


Independent

by rustedpages



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Littles Are Known, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pacifiers, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker-centric, These People Needa Learn How To Communicate, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, alternate universe - littles are known, and other stuff like that, questionable science, the avengers as a family, tony still owns the tower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustedpages/pseuds/rustedpages
Summary: MCU age play (regression) fic. -- don't look too hard at the whole science thing.The ”subgenders”/classifications were a new discovery. For Peter, anyways; for everyone who hadn't been Snapped, it was a thing that they'd gotten used to in the five years. Kind of- but at least the protests and the riots were over.Scientists had been researching a newly discovered hormone found in all humans for some years (even before Thanos), thinking they were finding a way to cure mood disorders, but after further discovery they found that they were playing with more than they bargained for. Shortly after the Snap, they brought it to the public’s attention as an urgent matter that needed to be addressed, because, hey, while you're trying to get over the fact that half of the universe is gone why not suffer some new mind blowing information that will change life as you know it?Now forced to take a daily pill that balances the hormone level, Peter begins to adapt to his new life in the new future, while also facing other personal daily struggles.Lots of crying to come, and no Morgan, he does NOT want nor need a pacifier to cope.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, natasha romanov & clint barton & bruce banner
Comments: 26
Kudos: 129





	1. .

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Thanks for checking this out, I know the summary's a bit long but ya know... or maybe you don't because even I don't.
> 
> I've tried to post stories on AO3 before, but I'd always gotten bored of the stories before I could post as much as an introduction; BUT as this is a fandom I'm very interested in and I absolutely love the Littles Are Known verse, maybe I can keep this up?
> 
> I don't know how long it's going to be, nor do I know where exactly it's going, but I do hope you'll still stick around to see it out with me! Thanks for reading!!

Practically everyone Peter knows had been examined. They were trying to pass a law now, trying to make it where school aged children _had_ to be examined for their secondary (“public safety crisis” they still cried, “free healthcare” everyone cried back). It had been months since the Blip, everyone’s slowly settling back in, and the new world’s been explained over and over… it’s almost as if nothing had happened.

Most of his friends, and the other people he hangs out with, turned out to be _Unstables_ ; Peter figures that’s a thing for one of two reasons. The first, and most likable reason, is because the human race is evolving and “Stables” were becoming less and less common (though of course they wouldn’t stop being the most common secondary until hundreds or more years) most younger people would be Unstables. And second reason, the one he hated most, was that the rumors were true and Unstables generally tended to hang around each other. 

Even the officials said that could be a cause. It was simple, they said, location and social status (it was a looping chain reaction: you grow up and learn to suppress your instincts, which all eventually leads to poor living and depression) tended to be the same for people throughout the secondaries. And Peter _did_ tend to only associate himself with like minded and situated people—and if those people happened to be a little depressed and anxious, so be it. That was another thing they said, mood disorders were a constant in Unstables. 

It was one of the questions they repeatedly asked him after everything was done and Peter had finally been able to see a doctor. “Do you have a mood disorder? Disorder _s_? Any at all? Diagnosed or not? Are you depressed, anxious?”

“I miss people being subtle about mental health,” Mr. Stark (“Kid, it’s Tony now!”) had joked to him when Peter had complained.

Besides that first time, Peter hadn’t been back to the doctors. They’d recommended that he go to see an _Examiner_ soon; his answers, which he’s now learned to lie about, had apparently pointed to some hormone imbalance (which he didn’t understand at all then, as no one had yet explained any new world stuff to him). They said as soon as possible, but he hadn’t, and he was able to slip under the radar thanks to Tony’s meddling—he’d only been trying to make officials turn a blind eye about where he’d been when he’d been snapped and he went when he was blipped, only avoiding the standard questions he’d said. And so, they never said anything, and neither did he.

* * *

“You think I act like a child, don’t you?” The angry voice made Peter pause just before fully entering the kitchen, swinging back behind the wall before he’d been noticed. It was Clint's angry growl, from his quick glimpse Clint was leaning against the island with his arms crossed, glaring at Steve and Sam sitting at the table.

“No one said that, Clint,” Steve said, but there was something soft in his voice that made even Peter upset. Peter didn’t have to ask what they were arguing about, it was one that was common around the tower (around the world, for that matter) now.

There was a sigh, “Don’t do that, Cap,” Clint said. Peter was having an inner battle with himself about whether to sneak away, or announce his presence when Clint rounded the corner with a, “Mornin’ Pete.”

“Spider-Boy!” Sam called.

Nothing but Steve’s slight frown hinted at any remaining disagreement, the rest of the kitchen filled with the morning aroma of coffee and breakfast.

Not wanting to draw attention to the argument, Peter didn’t mention it, hoping that maybe Sam and Steve believed he hadn’t overheard anything—that conversation would bring upon too many other similar topics and questions that Peter had avoided since being back.

“Mr. Stark here yet?” he asked instead with a sigh. Tony was supposed to take him to school. When Peter had moved into the tower about two months before, for reasons he _refused_ to discuss, they started a routine—the Starks would come over from their lake house early in the morning (they only lived at the tower on weekends) and eat breakfast with the other tower occupants, before loading Peter and Morgan in the car and driving them to their respective schools.

Peter hated it.

It wasn’t necessarily the fact that he’d have to go to school, though that was also a huge problem now, but more of the fact that he’d have to sit in an enclosed space with the three people he’d been avoiding for months.

“Oh, okay,” Sam said. “No ‘good morning’ or even a simple ‘hey’—”

“Tony and Pepper are in a meeting, Morgan’s with Happy in the sitting room, they’re waiting for you,” Steve said, cutting off Sam in what was sure to be a long and over-dramatic ramble with no end nor meaning.

“Rude… anyway, Peter, _I_ fixed breakfast.” Sam addressed Peter though he was grinning in Steve’s direction, who in response tilted his head with a frown and a small smirk. It was clear that Sam hadn’t fixed the breakfast, as Steve was always the one to do so, and Peter, who _sadly_ knew those looks and quips, made his escape to the sitting room before he had to unfortunately witness an early morning make-out session.

“Hey Morgan!” he said when he made it to where Morgan was building a spaceship with legos, something she’d picked up from him.

“Hey Petey!” the five year old responded in a slightly squeaker voice than her own that was nothing less than a coo—and Peter… barely stopped himself from face palming: they’d _talked_ about this!

Happy, who was lying on the main couch with a pillow over his head, snorted. To Peter the snort sounded suspicious, as if he _knew_ something. But he couldn’t. Because there was nothing to know. Morgan was a five year old who liked to pick and tease others, and there was nothing more to that fact. Happy just liked to witness Peter’s misfortune and misery. He didn’t _know_ anything, because there was nothing to know, and Morgan was just being a little sister, and that was all, and Happy was mean, and none of that meant anything becausetherewasn’tanything- 

“What?” Peter demanded of Happy with _maybe_ more venom than necessary.

“Nothing-!” Happy said, rising into a sitting position with his hands held up. His quick, too quick, reassurance and the look on his face that practically shouted “Please calm down!” was enough to get Peter’s blood boiling. It was easy to do that these days; any and everything felt like a personal offense to Peter, it was _it’s_ fault.

“It’s not fucking funny,” Peter said with an even heavier amount of venom, his eyes twitching at the swear. “I’ve asked her to stop doing that and she won’t fucking listen! It’s like she’s deaf. Are you deaf now, Morgan?” Peter asked sharply, turning towards the little girl who’d thrown down her legos and looked seconds away from tears.

The sight of her was almost enough to make him stop and apologize to her, maybe help her finish building, or give her some of his legos, or buy her some new ones with his own money, or — but he couldn’t. He wasn’t affected by some kids' tears, and they _definitely_ didn’t make him want to shed his own, because he was an adult now and he didn’t need any _five year olds cooing at him_.

Peter had just finished winding up for another round, when a loud and commanding voice said behind him, “That’s enough, Peter.”

The interruption added more fuel to his fiery rage and he turned to let it out on his new target, Steve. The man had his disappointed Captain America face on, the one that played on all those detention tapes.

“We can save all that energy for school,” he said. And he had _that_ voice on. The one that he used with Clint, the one that made Peter’s blood boil for unspoken reasons.

“Fuck you!” Peter shouted back. Like a balloon, Peter felt his anger dissipate and his mind began to clear of it’s fogginess. (“Uh-oh,” said Morgan and Peter silently agreed with her.)

“Go to school, Peter.” Steve’s voice was calm and low, it was a contrast to the hard set of his jaw and the way his hips shifted to center with his crossed arms.

Peter had woken up two hours ago, and the morning had already gone extremely down hill, and it wasn’t _fair_ . Peter should have probably gotten his backpack from the couch (because of course Morgan always insisted on going to Peter’s room every morning when she got to the tower, and Peter was still asleep, and bringing it down. “So you won’t forget it,” she always said). He should have probably done so, get it and go to school and pretend the day began great, and he might have done so if it weren’t for Morgan. It was _always_ Morgan.

Apparently having gotten over her tears, Morgan moved from her spot in Happy’s lap and grabbed his hand, placing his book-bag in his other.

“Let’s just have a breather for now, yeah, and then we can try this again in a moment. Okay?”

And Peter flipped. It was such a Tony or Pepper thing to say. It was always what they said to Morgan when she was throwing a fit. A fit. A tantrum. The anger and humiliation bubbled up inside of Peter, the kind that demanded to be let out here and now, and he felt he had very few choices on how to go about that. It was a battle between deciding to throw either Morgan or his book-bag across the room, but because he was able to see the consequences of throwing Morgan, he settled on flinging his bag across the room… and right into Steve’s face.

“Fuck school!” he shouted as the cherry on top.

“Room,” Sam said while Steve was in a frozen state of shock. “Your room, now Peter.”

Peter didn’t know if his deep breaths had turned into heaving sobs in the sitting room or somewhere else along his journey to his room. In fact, Peter didn’t remember much of anything after Sam’s intervention—he’d only realized he was in his room when a knock sounded on his door and it opened to the sight of the cotton of a ruined pillow floating from the air.

“Peter…” Tony sighed. “I’m sorry.”


	2. ..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!
> 
> This is kind of an info-dump, but I tried not to be too overbearing and tried to smooth it in with the story as much as possible. Is having the reader learn things at the same time as the main character a good method?? Hope so lmao
> 
> I'm going to try and post these when I get them done and when I finish editing them, but just note that I don't have chapters piled up waiting for a set date to be posted lol.
> 
> Enjoy!

“It was Morgan’s fault,” Peter mumbled before Tony could say anything or even move from the doorway.

With what had to be his tenth sigh, Tony moved further into the room. The last few pillow debris landing on the dark suit he still wore—Peter wondered if the meeting was over or if one of the others had called Tony from it in order to “deal” with him. Though he didn’t need dealing, he just needed everyone to leave him alone.

“Peter, stop for a second. We really need to talk—“

“Can you _please_ just leave me alone,” Peter said with tears in his eyes. He was beyond done with the day and, after a quick glance at his clock, he saw it was only nine in the morning. 

As far as Peter could see, there was _nothing_ to talk about. There weren’t many directions any conversation with Tony could go—there was only one thing people were now interested in, (“What’s your hormone level? Are you stable or are you, you know… _one of them_?”) and Peter had successfully dodged most of those conversations in the two months since being back and he wasn’t going to fail now. Whether he’d be able to do so peacefully or if he’d have to raise absolute hell, he was going to get them to leave him alone.

“So,” Tony said, with a thick layer of his version of “The Voice”, as he sat on the bed. Peter, recognizing Tony’s change in tactic, let his frown and pulled lips stretch further across his face; Tony sealed the deal, it was gonna be hell.

“No.” Peter rose from his crouched position on the floor (when had he gotten there?) and crossed the room to his closet. Even though he could feel and hear Tony also rise and begin to follow him, Peter forced himself to walk to the closet in a slow pace. If he were to be forced to “talk”, things were going to go on _his_ time and go _his_ way.

Peter pushed himself into the walk-in closet (that had been seam-rippingly filled less than an hour after he’d arrived) and went to his chill space. It was at the very back of the closet, where there were no longer any racks, but boxes piled high—some were empty but most were still filled with his old things from before the Snap. 

The boxes were haphazardly stacked, Peter’s web-fluid being the only reason he was allowed anywhere near it, and it was filled with many different pillows, covers, and stuffed animals (“They’re to keep it warm!” He had said when Morgan asked if they had names). It was his little space—his little _chill_ space, not his little space, because, of course, he didn’t have one of _those_. It wasn’t a club house (Morgan), or a fort (Pepper), and nor was it a hide-out (Tony). It was his chill space (or his cocoon, as Clint called it, which, yeah, Peter could get behind that one).

“May I come in?” Tony asked once the sound of Peter’s shuffling had quieted. Peter enjoyed making Tony’s feet shuffle as he stayed silent longer than necessary. Tony couldn’t see him unless he bent down to see in between the small cracks that separated the boxes, the only entrance being a small, blanket covered hole in one corner.

“No room,” Peter said simply. It was a lie, of course. The cocoon was roughly the size of Peter’s old bedroom in Queens, and Peter could definitely shift himself and his things to fit Tony. But… no. _His_ way.

“Tony.” It was a different voice now, and Peter was too lost in thought (how hadn’t he heard Sam walk in?) to bother following their conversation but was startled to attention by the sharp clap of hands. It was a telltale sign that Tony had set his mind to something, it was another one of the (annoying) things Morgan had picked up.

Before Peter could make a snarky quip, Tony began talking. Most of it were things he’d already heard, but Tony spoke about them more in depth and in a conversational voice that contrasted the doctor’s (and even May’s) professional and lecture-like tone from when he’d first returned. With Tony speaking it all felt real, absolutely-could-happen-to-Peter-at-any-given-moment real (which was an extremely scary experience as Peter _still_ refused to accept any new world things) and because things were going his way and on his time, Peter put an end to it. Or, tried to.

“No,” Tony said simply as Peter let out an extravagant yawn in the middle of his ramblings. They were having a battle then, a quiet battle but still a battle. Peter was adamant, though, that he was going to be the one to win. They were in _his_ room, and Peter was going to drive everything that happened in it _his_ way. He didn’t need anyone telling him what to do or how to do it, because he was a perfectly capable young adult. Peter was holding the reins, and that was final.

“As I was saying,” Tony went on, “it happened after the- after the Snap. Well, really it happened _before_ the Snap, literally the day before was when they’d released their research to the public domain… I guess it was good timing, huh?” (Peter didn’t respond as he was too busy making loud snores as he tried to count the boxes and tune out Tony’s voice.) “No one could freak out about such important information being held from them for so long, almost ten years, when they were panicking about half the world, you know, being Snapped away. 

“So! In the beginning they were poking around at stuff, and thought they were curing depression and other moods stuff but instead discovered a hormone that meant some people were natural age-players and doms—” Tony stopped suddenly. After a pause, in which Peter had stopped his snoring in order to process what made Tony freeze, Tony groaned, “Forget I said that.”

“Which part, the mind numbing information that’s been _drilled_ into my head for two months now… or the BDSM mention?” Peter asked with faux innocence in his voice, while his body wiggled happily and his face broke out into a wide grin at the opportunity to get things back on his time and his way.

“What do you know about—? Nevermind! They call them many different things, there’s even a scientific name for it though it’s slipped my mind, but we’re just gonna say regressors and caregivers; bigs and littles, if you must, though don’t just go around saying that one as a lot of people are gonna think you’re trying to, you know, sexulize them.” Through the cracks Peter could see Tony rubbing his face, and Peter felt a shot of guilt in his stomach at the sight of the man's tired eyes so early in the morning.

The guilt made its way through his body until it settled in his head. What was he _doing_? He was sixteen years old and here he was behaving like a, like a _little_ … Peter hated it, he hated it all, because he knew what it was. He didn’t know the _why_ or the _how_ but he knew the what.

“It’s obviously a mental disorder,” Flash had said once at school after a presentation about the new hormone. “That’s why they’re called _Un_ stables. They’re messed up in the head.” 

“Can we at least get to the parts that I want to hear about?” Peter asked in an attempt to keep his tears inside. His confession, that doubled as a clear and unspoken “I’m done now” to Tony, was barely more than a whisper, but Peter hoped Tony had heard it because he refused to repeat himself.

“Okay,” Tony said in a slowness that made it obvious he’d refrained from answering too quickly. “What do you wanna hear?”

Peter took a moment before answering, his answer too embarrassing to admit. “I don’t know,” he said instead, then scolded himself for possibly missing his only opportunity. He _could_ look it up, but that was going to lead to more questions and answers he didn’t want to hear. It was a lot harder to deny everything when it was literally in your face.

“Do you want to know what’s going on with you?” Tony asked in a small and soft voice.

And Peter choked on his spit.

* * *

“Secondary Puberty, is what they call it,” Tony began, completely ignoring Peter’s sputtering sounding from the cocoon. “It’s when the hormone fully develops and those with an amount that’s higher than others begin to struggle harder to repress their instincts. Because it’s natural, Pete. All of it.”

Peter stayed silent, refusing to acknowledge that Tony had acknowledged the elephant in the room. He laid down in the cocoon and placed his hands over his ears.

“Some people, you and I, Pete, have a higher amount of the hormone. It’s stronger and not giving into our biology can make our brains go all wack. A lot of people become sad, or even angry,” Tony paused there, putting emphasis on ‘angry’, “when they deny themselves. Peter, honey, you can’t keep denying yourself, you're making yourself sick.”

There was a silence when Tony finished speaking. Peter held his breath, not wanting to make any noise that would break the stifling spell hovering over them, in fear it would finally fall on them and everything would be over. Tony would realize how disgusting Peter was, just as May had, and Peter wouldn’t have anywhere else to go.

“How did you know?” Peter said at last with heaving breath. At the end of the sentence Peter finally failed at keeping his sobs at bay. “I’m sorry!” he wailed.

“No, Peter, honey,” Tony said while squeezing through the hole to get inside the cocoon.

“How!” Peter demanded when Tony had settled himself in front of him. As Tony pulled him into a hug Peter said through his tears, “I hide it well, right?”

“Well,” Tony faltered, the answer was an obvious no, but Peter was clearly seeking validation. “Yeah, you hide it well… if it wasn’t for Morgan we wouldn’t have known.”

He’d started out strong, had said exactly the right thing for the moment, but had ended horribly. Mentioning Morgan wasn’t the best idea when Peter was “having a moment”, it wasn’t _jealousy_ (well sometimes) but it was because Morgan was the reason for all of this. At other times Peter knew how silly that sounded, but at moments like these, it was easier to place the blame on someone else and Morgan _always_ seemed to be present or mentioned.

“It’s always Morgan’s fault!” Peter defended himself in rage, tears now forgotten in favor of anger. “She’s always doing stuff that makes me do it and-and… Fuck!” Sometimes words were hard, either his thoughts were moving too fast to catch, or he had a thought but his mouth didn’t seem to work with his mind—there were a few words that he didn’t have a problem saying and it was always useful to resort back to those as they always seemed to get his point across. “No! Fuck it!” he said in finality.

“Peter,” Tony started, beginning to pat Peter’s back in a placating gesture.

“Fuck you!” Peter didn’t want to discuss it anymore, no more new world stuff (and yes, that _did_ include Morgan’s entire existence). He was sleepy now and everything sucked and he was hungry and Tony wouldn’t shut up and no one would leave him alone and everyone was mad at him and he was disgusting and _Morgan_ was somewhere mocking him.

“Peter, that’s a no-no word,” Tony said in The Voice, which obviously meant that he hadn’t heard the unspoken words. The Voice was a new world thing and Peter was completely done with those now.

“No!” Peter said with a whispered ‘ _fuck_ ’ afterwards.

“New favorite words you’ve got there?” Tony mocked before pausing and making a thoughtful noise. “Are those words easier?” he asked at last.

“No!” Peter tried to shout only for a new wave of sobs to come out.

“Okay,” Tony said, resuming the back pats. “Alright, we can work with this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bro, y'all are reading, giving kudos, AND commenting!! Thank you so much to all of you!
> 
> For those leaving comments, I hope you know my face lit up, lmfao, and I'm sorry for not commenting back (seems a little daunting cuz imma idiot) but just know that I've read each comment (several times!!) and I loved each one.
> 
> And the suggestions, I love it- please keep doing that.
> 
> Again, thank y'all very much.


	3. ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. This chapter is NOT COMPLETE. But I guess I've lost the motivation currently? I know I'd said in a comment that I hadn't discontinued this story, yadayada, ignore her she's a bitch and doesn't know what she's talking about. Or maybe she does, I'm not "discontinuing" it, but I don't know when I'm next going to update. Hopefully posting this bit will make me write more, but for now this is all I've got and it kinda abruptly cuts off at the end. 
> 
> I'm sorry y'all, but right now all I feel like doing is sleeping all day, and I know most of y'all probably know that feeling, cause look at you reading fanfic at 3am... I SEE YOU
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Enclosed in the comforting cocoon, Peter fell asleep to Tony’s humming and the steady rhythm of pats on his back. It’d taken him awhile before he’d finally given into the sleep as he remembered it couldn’t have been after ten in the morning.

“Don’t need a nap,” he’d grumbled to Tony before the man could even say anything about his constant yawning and drifting eyelids.

He woke an hour later still tucked away in his cocoon, Tony was nowhere to be seen in the dim light but ( _ of course _ ) she was. Not too far from where his head was Morgan’s small figure curled around one of the stuffed animals.

A groan almost slipped passed Peter’s lips before he paused. It was that deflating balloon feeling in his mind again, this was  _ Morgan _ he was looking at. The little girl who always tried to be nice to him, who always tried to take care of him, who seemed to always know what he needed before he did. All of this, and Peter had been an absolute ass to her. No matter what he felt in his head, she was  _ five _ and he was sixteen. No matter what Tony or any informational videos said, even when it felt like that balloon was at full mast in his head, Peter had control over the things he did. He felt terrible for putting the girl through what he had. 

_ No excuses _ , he vowed to himself,  _ I’ve got to be the big brother; at all times _ .

His vow lasted only about the two minutes it took for Morgan to begin squirming before she was fully awake and took sight of him.

“Mommy told me to apologize,” she said simply.

“What?” Peter asked lightly in lieu of a response. He had expected her to coo at him again, not to wake up prepared with a full apology.

“So, I’m sorry,” she tilted her head to the side to think, before adding, “for babying you and stuff.”

“Morgan…” Peter trailed off. He was slightly horrified that she was apologizing, apologizing for something she couldn’t control. Even if he could control his instincts, Morgan was only five and was growing up in a world and environment that encouraged the secondary behavior, she was doing what she knew to do and she had little, if any, control. Tony’s words came back to him then, if Peter denying himself made him “sick” and angry, he could only imagine what it would do to a sweet little girl such as Morgan. He couldn’t be mad at her, though as that balloon started to fill back up in his head, he felt that being mad was easier than explaining all of that to the girl.

“Morgan,” Peter said again but in a sharp and vicious voice, he was amping himself up, steeling himself, to pick apart the little that the girl said. He would have said something such as, ‘ _ Why did you listen to them but not me? _ ’ if it weren’t for the voice that suddenly called from out behind the boxes and web.

“That was very nice of you, honey,” Happy said, “Peter, do you have anything  _ nice _ you can say, too?”

Happy’s question stopped him—Peter realized he was doing it again, he’d just made a vow and there he was being mean to Morgan with the excuse of his “ _ balloon _ ”.

To his horror, Peter felt his eyes begin to burn,  _ again _ . He’d lost count of how many times he’d cried that morning, but he knew it was a higher amount than he was comfortable with. While he’d been crying and feeling weird a lot in the past week (when everything in his head started to go to hell) that day alone topped it all.

“Why isn’t she at school?” Peter asked, throat slightly sore with the ache of withheld cries.

“Peter, Morgan apologized to you,” Happy reminded him while Morgan stayed silent, now playing with one of the many stuffed animals.

“It’s  _ fine _ ,” he insisted in a rush. Even Peter didn’t know if he were responding to Morgan’s apology, or if he were trying to convince everyone, including himself, that he was fine and the wobble in his voice didn’t indicate he was seconds away from crying.

“Morgan, how about a snack?” Happy announced after almost a minute of silence. “Peter, are you coming, too?”

Peter didn’t really want to go anywhere, wanting to be alone (and usually preferring to stay enclosed in his cocoon when he was feeling confused and “air-headed”) but he also didn’t want to be alone. Especially in the cocoon, where it was now tainted with bad and embarrassing memories. He wanted to be around someone who didn’t  _ know _ , but it seemed apparently everyone did based off of Tony’s nonchalance. Even just being around someone who knew but didn’t treat him differently would do. Maybe someone going through similar experiences—

“Where’s Clint?” Peter called out sticking his head out of the cocoon hole after Morgan crawled out.

“Uh, FRIDAY?” Happy asked the ceiling.

“Agent Barton is currently on his private floor,” the AI said, “Would you like me to request him for you, Peter?”

Peter hesitated—the tower had two floors that were dedicated as a common living space for them all, and while everyone had their own room on those floors, everyone of age also got their own personal floor. No one really used their own floor unless they needed a break, or maybe simply felt like relaxing away from all the chaos an overfull house brought. It’d been around one or two hours since Peter’d walked in on the dispute between Clint, Steve, and Sam; Clint were still hiding away on his floor he must have been more affected than Peter’d thought.

“Nah, I’ll just show up,” Peter finally said to FRIDAY. He’d decided to go unannounced in fear of Clint telling him no or avoiding him if FRIDAY asked—he didn’t want to be stuck with Bucky, or even Dr. Banner. Even though they’d both confided in him ( _ plenty _ of times, in fact, so many times that if Peter thought about it, it seemed as if everyone in the tower had  _ known _ about  _ it _ way before he had) that they both had their own “balloons”, they were both under the strict impression that everything was okay and it was something to embrace. If Peter tried to tell them about anything going through his head, Bucky would probably nod and immediately call for Steve (or Sam, godforbid), and Dr. Banner would try to give him a toy and call Natasha.

* * *

“So…” Peter began after he’d settled himself across Clint’s couch with a decidedly huge mug of coffee (because  _ of course _ he could handle it). He’d by then lost the nerve he’d gathered and no longer wanted to talk about the balloon.

“I had FRIDAY show me the footage from earlier,” Clint interrupted with a smile, “nice throw. Caught ‘em right in the nose.”

Peter groaned, “Don’t remind me. Don’t mention any of that.”

“Why not? It was funny, the highlight of my day.”

“You know why,” Peter muttered, and he felt Clint did, if his sudden frozen state were anything to go by.

“Nevermind,” Clint whispered. They, again, sat in silence for a while, turning the TV on to drown out the awkwardness, before Clint suddenly stood up, cold coffee spilling from his equally large mug.

“You know what?” he said, “I—” he paused before completely deflating.

“The way you did that, I thought you had a plan of revenge or something,” Peter said while side eyeing the man in hopes that he actually would.

“That what you want? Revenge?” Clint looked over at him with a frown, “What for?”

“‘What for’?” Peter repeated, sputtering, “For-for it all! Don’t  _ you _ want revenge?”

“Peter…” Clint trailed in another voice that Peter hated—it wasn’t The Voice but it was one of those adult voices that screamed ‘ _ I know more than you so you need to immediately listen to me with no questions asked _ ’. “It’s not like that,” he continued.

Peter was confused, and slightly hurt, by Clint’s sudden disconnect. He and Clint had unexpectedly bonded in the short two months, and during that time they’d seemed to constantly be on the same wavelength. Having Clint suddenly go all “adult” on him felt like a betrayal.


	4. Chap. 3.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of chapter three. Added stuff begins under the section break. Might be beneficial to reread the beginning of chapter three before beginning this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry! My excuse: I was in that stupid hole but I think I’m crawling out of it now? 
> 
> Anyway, I’m sorry if this feels rushed, it’s one o’clock in the morning and I’m on my phone. And also sorry if my “writing voice” seems different, it always seems that it does after I haven’t written anything in a second.
> 
> Hopefully I can get the next chapter out sometime tomorrow (or today because it’s morning to me now🤔)
> 
> THANKS FOR READING!!

“That what you want? Revenge?” Clint looked over at him with a frown, “What for?”

“‘What for’?” Peter repeated, sputtering, “For-for it all! Don’t _you_ want revenge?”

“Peter…” Clint trailed in another voice that Peter hated—it wasn’t The Voice but it was one of those adult voices that screamed ‘ _I know more than you so you need to immediately listen to me with no questions asked_ ’. “It’s not like that,” he continued.

Peter was confused, and slightly hurt, by Clint’s sudden disconnect. He and Clint had unexpectedly bonded in the short two months, and during that time they’d seemed to constantly be on the same wavelength. Having Clint suddenly go all “adult” on him felt like a betrayal.

* * *

“Are you not tired of them treating you like a little kid all the time? Like, I’m sixteen, and you’re an adult, we don’t need morning and evening naps!”

“Biological—”

“Shut up.” And, woah, Peter’d just told Agent Clint Barton ( _Hawkeye_!) to shut up, but he was on a roll and he wasn’t going to stop until Clint got his faith and motivation back.

“Clint,” Peter continued, “biologically, the _stuff_ only happens when something that’s basically another biological clock says it’s time. And it’s not every time or always!”

“How do you know?” Clint asked with his earlier doubt still in his voice—it was as if he’d completely given up hope, as if he were beginning to believe the agenda the media were still trying to push. Clint, like the media, seemed to believe that people like them were little kids 24/7. Peter knew that wasn’t true, both from his research and his common sense.

“I didn’t sleep for the first three days when I got back. Partially because I couldn’t… but mostly because there was too much new stuff to learn.”

Clint’s face was still pinched in doubt and Peter began to get frustrated. He was still hungry and he was beginning to wish he’d gone for a snack with Morgan and Happy.

“Remember your conversation with Steve last week? I heard you say you wanted to get back in the field…” Peter trailed off, letting Clint take in his words. It was really that conversation that marked the beginning of Peter’s horrible and emotional week.

Before that he was doing fine (as fine as he could be after being snapped away for five years by a big, purple, weird-looking alien thing), he was doing his research and slowly coming to terms with it all—he’d pretty much figured it all out on his own and had done his own “experiments” on himself (What felt natural? Did the cocoon and his teddy bears make him feel better?) and he was prepared to accept a new change in the world, because honestly, what else did he have to lose? But, that was before he overheard one of the many arguments between Clint and the others.

When Clint was examined a year ago the results came back to show he had a low hormone amount and it had caused some tension in the team—or what was left of the team. Tony had told Peter once that they’d stayed up countless nights trying to figure out what the new world _stuff_ meant for the Avengers. The subject had been too big for everyone’s mental state and they’d let the subject drop without official closure. What were the Avengers anyway? It seemed to be a childish term after such a brutal and tragic loss; there wasn’t much to avenge in the five year shock that’d happened. There was no field. But now there was. The Avengers were back and the debate was back on the table.

“That’s called eavesdropping, Spidey,” Clint said with a defensive frown. Peter had swore to himself that he wouldn’t bring the old conversation up when he’d heard it—it was private and held lots of information he knew Clint probably didn’t want known—but Peter knew he had to hit low to get where he needed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to but you guys always seem to argue in the kitchen when I’m hungry,” Peter tried in a lighthearted tone to lighten the energy before he continued, “but anyway. Clint. Does it _not_ make you mad that they won’t let you back in? Steve said it himself, that if you get back in it’d have to be heavily supervised and minor jobs!”

“Peter—”

“They’re doubting you! As if you haven’t done this for, what, a few decades now?” Peter again tried to joke his way through, but Clint didn’t bite the hook.

“If we’re going to talk about private matters,” Clint began with a hard set face and his arms folded, “then how about we talk about you and Pepper’s talk about your nighttime potty problems?”

“I don’t—!”

“Get out.”

“ _Clint_!” Peter whined in a pleading voice. “Let’s just _do something_ —!”

“Peter, grow up!”

Clint’s tone and words made Peters frustration flush throughout his body before it all slammed into his head, puffing up into the hated balloon.

“No!” And maybe later Peter would be embarrassed in his choice of words (out of all things to say, he’d chosen to say the most babyish word) but at the moment all Peter cared about was making Clint realize how horrible he was being… and finding someone to tell about it. 

“Clint, you don’t…” Peter stopped to think; yet again his thoughts were flying too fast in his head and he couldn’t grasp one long enough to say. Giving up on returning to his original thought, he settled on, “You don’t!”

Peter tried and he thought he’d done an okay job of expressing his feelings without swearing at his friend, but Clint’s face told him otherwise. The man held a steady smirk from his spot on the couch (because, _of course_ , he knew all about the balloon and the power it had).

“I don’t… what?” Clint slowly asked.

At his realization that Clint _knew_ , Peter’s confidence shattered into humiliation which grew into an adrenaline rush. In a blur, Peter moved through the living room and pushed over a floor plant that resided in a corner, before he stepped into the elevator. With a shout of, “Tony!” to FRIDAY, he was on his way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, again, for reading. If you enjoyed, kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated... ya know just so you're aware lmao.
> 
> (Ayo, even if it's just a heart you're commenting, I'd still appreciate it- as would any other fic writer.)
> 
> This is not betaed, so any and all mistakes are mine. If you see any or notice anything please let me know!!
> 
> And lastly, if you have any ideas please let me know! As I said I don't know where this is going but I am enjoying myself and I would love to hear your ideas. Even if I don't end up using them, I'd still enjoy them.
> 
> BYEEEEEEE


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